Tom and Love Potions - The Real Wizarding War
by KeepCalmFanFicExists
Summary: Amortentia is a very tricky potion to work with. And Tom Riddle isn't the easiest person on earth either. So what happens when they cross paths during Slughorn's class? (did that just rhyme?) -set during Tom's sixth year at Hogwarts (around 1942)
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Hello and thank you for taking time to read this. It was written some time ago during an experiment at the Uni to cheer up a friend. Then too weeks ago my tea drinking friend Aura and I had a very interesting conversation on the matter, so here it is. Aura this is for you, an early graduation gift from me, along with some of Tom's Terribly Tonic Tea ;) Enjoy_

_Disclaimer: If I told you I am JK would you believe me? Thought so. Then, anything that sounds familiar comes from the Half-Blood Prince (pages 186-188 German paperback edition) by JK Rowling._

Tom Riddle enjoyed Potions, he had to admit. It was not the subject that caused this -although he was always enthusiastic about anything to do with knowledge-, but the professor. Professor Slughorn was not exactly a likeable person, not that Tom found anyone ever likeable, but he was so blown away by his skill and, dare he say, raw power the handsome orphan emitted, that his teaching hours could easily renamed into "One hundred and one reasons to admire T.M. Riddle". Of course, he believed the Potions Master was being ridiculous, but he needed the... advertisement so people would join in his own little club. Well, no he didn't need it, everyone in the school and nowadays out of it too, knew how amazing-stunning-handsome-brilliant he was, but still he liked it all the same.

So that day he strode in the Potions Classroom with that air of combined confidence and politeness only he could pull off. He sat at his usual working place and only after he inclined his head a little his... friends sat around him . Ignoring them on purpose, he fixed his gaze on the potion they would be brewing today.

Slughorn had this time made some, to demonstrate. He fought the urge to roll his eyes. The professor was a hopeless show-off! Tom's piercing eyes easily recognized the brew: Amortentia, the love potion. This time he actually did roll his eyes. He had always believed the Hogwarts curriculum was laughable for him, but this? He was pretty sure this was illegal. Only insane, drooling teenage girls took the time to brew such a potion, 95 percent ending up missing an ear or ten inches from their braids.

Anyway, he would have to brew it perfectly as always just to keep his best-student-ever act.

He shot a quick look at Black, Lestrange, Malfoy and Avery, the minions sitting closer to him, and found them practically lying on their stools, a stupid blank expression on their faces. Orion even gave him a lazy grin when he caught his eye, for Salazar's sake! Not good. If his minions thought they could just smile at him like that- hold on, he caught himself. Oh, yes, how could he forget. According to respectable sources, Amortentia is supposed to smell like things that attract us. Now, that could actually be interesting.

He inhaled deeply, letting his nose feel the air.

Nothing. He tried again. Nothing, except for the usual, funny smell of the dungeon.

Abraxas' comment: "I do love my shampoo for extra shine with chamomile essence" made him snap. He rose to his feet and without asking permission went straight ot the cauldron in the middle of the room.

-Tom, my boy? he heard Slughorn's voice but ignored it.

He bent his tall body over the cauldron and took a deep breath.

Again there was nothing at first. And then... the smell of old books and parchment and ink saluted his senses. Then yew and milk chocolate and the smell of freshly washed robes and polished wood. And after that cold mountain air and something metallic. Smells kept assaulting and now most of them he couldn't recognize.

He felt suddenly light-headed, drunk and his arm shot out to prevent him from falling.

-Tom? Tom, my boy, are you alright? Slughorn again.

He opened his mouth to respond... something, but the smells came in contact with his tongue and turned into flavours of food he had never eaten, women he had never kissed-

Someone pocked his shoulder and jerked him away from the cauldron.

Lestrange. He was looking at him with the most puzzled expression, not sure what to do. With his mind still fuzzy, he tried to pull himself together. Thank Salazar his self-control was impeccable and a few seconds later his face was as composed as ever. He turned to Slughorn , making a mental note of dealing with Lestrange and his liberties later.

-I apologize, Professor, he said smoothly. It was jst an experiment. You see, I have come across such a good sample of this particular potion. I am sorry, I got overexcited.

Haha, humility with a dose of flattery for good measure always does the trick.

Indeed the professor smiled and then laughed loudly, sending him back to his seat.

-And now, ladies and gentlemen, today we will be trying our strengths with this peculiar potion. I syppose Mr. Riddle knows what it is?

-It is Amortentia sir, the most powerful love potion n the world, he said simply. It is easily recognized by its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen and the characteristic spirals of its steam. It is also said to smell according to what attracts us most. The symptoms of a person under the influence include enthusiasm for a specific individual who's hair was put in the potion, carelessness and an unhealthily pale complexion, he concluded enjoying the gapes his classmates were giving him.

-Excellent, excellent, Tom, as always. Twenty points to Slytherin , Slughorn exclaimed. Only we must keep in mind that even Amortentia cannot create that amazing and mystical emotion one calls love. The brew causes... infatuation in the best case scenarios and therefore is one of the most dangerous potions and its use forbidden in all the magical countries of our world. Still it is a very interesting potion with fascinating reactions between ingredients and demands delicate handling and full concentration. Since your class has shown great skill in potions making all the six years of your education. I have persuaded professor Dippet let you experiment for the hour only. I know it is desperately tricky to make, so i don't expect perfect brews, except for Mr. Riddle. None the less please turn to page two hundred and eighty three where the instructions lie. Your hour begins... now!

As expected everyone rushed to open their books and heat their cauldrons, even though they knew they didn't stand a chance with him in class. Lazily, he searched in his bag for the book and started following the instructions, his face the only calm one in the dungeon.

Soon, the whole classroom was filled with repulsive steam and good-for-nothing potions that splattered cat vomit to anyone close enough or shot lightnings to their brewer. Tom would have snorted to himself any other time, but now...

For the first time in his life something was not going according to plan. His potion was not the eye-watering turquoise slime Orion Black had made, or the brown mush with the obviously non-dissolved snake fangs from Malfoy, but he could tell something was wrong.

Even when he had dropped the first ingredient inside his cauldron it had been. Instead of crackling happily, the surface, now that he was supposedly finished, was boiling even though the fire was extinguished, and it was definitely not pearly white. It changed colours and textures when someone got close, while to him it was black- green. And there was no steam at all... However, he could still smell the vertigo of perfumes and so did his friends when they were asked by Slughorn. As for the professor, he seemed one step away from tearing all his degrees into pieces an disappearing in a whole somewhere.

Because he always took pride in been able to recognize what mistakes his students had made during brewing a certain potion. Now, he wasn't even sure if his most talented student ever had actually done a mistake or invented a new potion.

His concoction had turned a brilliant golden when he had approached and he could smell the lilies, the crystallized pine-apples, the polished wood. Theoretically, the essence was the most difficult to create and a very good marker to know if your potion is Amortentia and not a poison. So what the hell was wrong?

Tom looked as riddled as he did, and even as Slughorn approached, he read and reread the instructions all over again, repeating to himself that he had done everything the book said, not adding anything on his own as so many times he had been tempted to do, not missing any steps and doing it in the correct order.

The class was dismissed in clouds of hushed voices as everyone was talking about the Slytherin Prince and his failure at brewing the love potion.

Later that night professor Dumbledore was sitting alone in his office deep in thought. Things were worse than he had expected.

Horace had called him two hours ago to his office to show him Tom Riddle's Amortentia brew. After a lot of tests and talks and more tests, they had drawn the conclusion that the potion had been brewed perfectly, but had reacted differently due to the magic of its brewer.

Tom's Amortentia was...odd. It was stronger than the most perfected form, but the symptoms were so extreme, they didn't come close to love at all. They created a sick obsession in the point of making someone blindly obedient to Riddle, slavishly devoted to him to death.

It was as if it was impossible for Tom's magic to give a kind, warm feeling. Only admiration and obsession. The most perverted form of love.

_A/N: Please tell me what you think and I'd love to read some opinions on the choices I made here. Oh and whoever finds something odd with the page number gets a cup of Tom's Tea :)_

_Bye for now_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Hello again. This is the second part to the Tom/Love Potions study and although it's cruel even for Tom, yes he has been given Amorentia. It is not a sequel, in fact it is set the previous year. Please let me know what you think :)_

_Disclaimer: So, after a lot of sessions of therapy I have come to accept I am not JK Rowling. At this stage I have to say it out loud: No, I don't own the Harry Potter universe! I don't own Knorr's book either._

_On a happier note, Melody thank you for the advice on London through Depression, Tarry thank you for the help in English and apologies for turning you into a dictionary and Aura the Abraxas part was added just for you ;) That's for you girls :) Enjoy_

He was running as fast as the wind through those London streets he knew so well, pure triumph in his heart.

Somewhere in the distance he could still hear the shopkeeper screaming curses and swears at him. He took a sharp turn to the right for a faster way to get back to the prison, hands holding his treasure tightly to his skinny chest.

As the tall, luxurious buildings and the wide streets gave their place to dilapidated shacks and built on muddy water, he slowed down a bit to estimate his position.

Whitechapel. The prison was not far away.

This was the time to admire his treasure! Then he'd have to hide it away from the other children in the ways only he could. They'd just take it away and laugh over the freak again and he wouldn't let that happen.

He approached a corner that smelled strongly of urine and cheap beer. His small grip seized the shoulder of the man leaning hopelessly there and gave a great push. The man seemed drunk into a stupor to forget how many days his children hadn't had food on the table, but was still lucid enough to get the hint. However small, skinny and ragged he was, that green-silver icy glare passed the message: Leave or suffer.

His lips let out a cry of delight and longing, while he unraveled the treasure he had so many times seen displayed on the window.

"Deliciae Naturae Selectae" by G. W. Knorr, a two-tomed, illustrated with ninety one engravings, guide on wild animals of all six continents.

Should he begin with a roaring lion or go straight to the reptiles?

He opened hungrily the first book and yes, it was an amazing illustration of a plump bespectacled girl with pigtails!

Hold on that can't be right, a little voice said in his head. He flipped the page again, finding the part about rhinos. That would be gr- since when do rhinos wear glasses? And most importantly, so pretty glasses?

He took his gaze from the book to think, only to see the familiar face again on the drunk's face. And on the little tramps playing in the mud nearby. Dazzled by the beauty and bizarreness he didn't notice at first the grim pink colouring the shacks and the dirty water around him. He felt light-headed and-

* * *

Tom Riddle practically fell from the chair he always occupied in the library the countless hours he spent there in his quest for knowledge.

Frantic, he looked around him, his breathing getting more peaceful as he reassured himself that the books had no traces of pink on them.

Tom checked his watch. Eight thirty in the morning.

After two sleepless nights deep in research, he had eventually fallen asleep.

He should take a shower, change and then go find that girl to take her to Hogsmeade with him.

No. No he didn't want to do that, he has already decided to stay in the library and study some more. He sighed. Sleep deprivation was driving even him crazy...

"To-om," a mousey sing-song voice came from behind.

He turned gloomily on his heel trying to appear politely to face the girl of his dreams. Literally. There she was, pigtails in order, small eyes enlargened by the glasses, looking at him nervously.

"I-I was wondering," she began again, "if you would like to go to Hogsmeade with me today."

"My thoughts exactly," he smiled the biggest smile of his life. "Just let me change first."

She nodded shyly and he hopped like a bunny to the Prefect's bathroom surrounded by the blissful mist, care-free for the first time in his whole life. All he had to decide now was which perfume should he choose.

Only when he had taken all of his clothes off and was about to jump into the pink water with the pink foam and the pink bubbles, did it occur to him that he didn't want contact with anything err... pink and perfumed.

But alarmingly this didn't matter at all, his body was already immerged in the pinkness.

And the torture had just began. Soon he realized that no matter what he thought or wanted to do, his body was working on its own accord. He got washed and cleaned with pink chamomile shampoo and pink toothpaste while he was screaming inside. On the outside he was still smiling broadly, and not because of his famous acting skills.

Something was wrong, something was terribly wrong, he decided as he approached the smiling bespectacled girl. It was social suicide going out with _her_, but his legs were happily moving foreward.

"Shall we?" he asked politely, his voice for the first time shaking slightly.

The girl blushed and took his hand. He'd rather touch the floor than her hand, only his slim fingers wrapped around hers in a very inappropriate manner.

Tom had always despised affection and its public demonstration even more, so what was the problem? The world seemed to be dipped in sugar and "I lone you cards"... Why in the na- "I love you cards".

Of course. Love potions.

Utter horror exploded in his mind as he realised he no other choice than going out with her.

Twenty minutes later they were sitting in the Three Broomsticks and despite Tom's several attempts to escape he was still trapped. Now he was beginning to panic a little. And panic attacks were for hysterical housewives and- and silly people who hadn't studied for their exams, not _him_. Being a Mind-Arts-Prodigy it was the first time he was having difficulty in controlling his mind and body and Salazar he was using that phrase a lot lately.

Actually he was feeling a little hot, too. He who had slept with a tie numerous times, was now fighting the urge to loosen it, so he could breath freely.

His hand shot out to get a sip of his tea, maybe it would make him feel better, tea made everything better, but got distracted by the size of his hand. It was twice as big and bright red.

"Tom, Tom you don't look ok," the girl was whispering.

He knew that, oh he knew that far too well. And it was all her fault. But instead of the swear he wanted to use, he said sweetly.

"Just a minute, I'll be right back."

Flashing a smile he dashed to the bathroom and locked the door behind him. A glimpse of himself at the mirror was enough to tell him the truth.

His handsome face, with the high cheekbones and the ivory skin that made all the girls and some boys go nuts, was now puffy shiny and red, his glands swollen. He put his left hand on the right to take his pulse. Oh Salazar, his heart pace was alarmingly slow and the beat weak. That meant that if he didn't do something soon he was going to pass out.

Wracking his brains very calmly, he found the answer far lowlier that usual.

Epinephrine would help raise his heart rate. Frantically he searched his robes for the yew, not even recognizing his over-controlling, OCD self, when he discovered his wand in his never-used-before back pocket.

A swift slash and his robes were cut open at thigh height. Finding it more difficult to breath by the second, gasping desperately for air and his diaphragm contracting in full anaphylactic shoc, he didn't hesitate a moment.

Tom punctured his wand with the yew, thinking with all his might "Adrenalina" and... And the pink cloud was retreating, oxygen reaching his precious brain again.

He took several calming breaths staring at his reflection the whole time. His face was getting back to normaland so was his heartbeat. Strong and steady.

He swore under his breath in a very uncharacterstic way. Colourful language wasn't usually his thing, but this time... This time what was there to say apart from that.

Tom made sure he looked OK now and stitched his robes quickly while pondering in his mind: should he continue the date and then break the girl's heart when least expected so he could have fun or was something more efficient in order? He was glad to find that despite the whole poisoning adventure he was just as creative as ever in torture methods.

Concluding that after an allergic reaction like that he deserved some amusement, he entered the main room to find most of his minions forming a tight circle around a white-blond head. Abraxas.

He approached mildly irritated -he wasn't in a babysitting mood right now and a girl needed a good session of torture- but everyone let him reach Malfoy without even asking. The blond was sitting on a chair rocking backwards and forwards, pupils dilated in agony, heavy drops of sweat shining on his forehead. He was deadly pale.

"Alone, all alone in the bathroom," he was muttering to no one in particular. "What if-if something happens and it-it-" he let out a squeal of horror.

Tom sighed. Seriously he had no time for this. His day was already a waist.

In an uncharacteristic way -and Salazar knew how many times he had said that today- he grabbed Malfoy from the shoulder, but before he could utter a single word, Abraxas sniffed the air and said in a dreamy fashion:

"Can you smell it, Tom? The chamomile shampoo. Can you smell it? It's not alone in the bathroom anymore."

* * *

It was one in the morning when Tom slid out of his bed and headed towards the second floor bathrooms. Here lay his darkest secret yet and he knew exactly what he was going to do with it.

No more random Mudbloods petrified while sneaking out on dates or going to the loo. This time the basilisk would kill a very special someone to pay back for all today's mess. Well, he smiled darkly to himself, his mess, because he didn't really care if the chamomile shampoo would eventually say the yes to Abraxas' proposal or would break his heart forever.

All he had to do was wait. This bathroom was Myrtle's favoutite, anyway.

_A/N: Thanx for reading, please review. The info on anafylaxia comes from my biology book from school._

_The book Tom is so thrilled to have err... "gotten" is real and the title means The Delights of Natural Selection. Georg Wolfgang Knorr (1705-1761) was a German endgraver and naturalist._

_Whitechapel is a real neighborhood in London, East End, that's where the Jack the Ripper murders took place, horrible place to live in. _

_OCD: Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, for some reason I'm convinced every psychology book has his picture near that disorder... Another reason to love psychology._


End file.
